


Breathe Me In (You Won't Release)

by RandomWordsAndStormyDays



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Complete, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Multiple Endings, deacon is also oblivous, deacon is in love, nora is oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-12-22 21:30:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21083387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomWordsAndStormyDays/pseuds/RandomWordsAndStormyDays
Summary: "You made flowers grow in my lungs and, although they are beautiful, I cannot breathe." --UnknownThe first time Deacon falls in love it’s wonderful. She loves him back and they spend years together until the Deathclaws take her from him. Afterwards, his heart grows hard and he believes that he’ll never feel this way again.The second time Deacon falls in love it’s painful. He knows the woman who turned his life around will never want him, they’re friends, partners, but nothing more. He’s resigned to that, he’s accepted it.Then he begins to cough up flowers.





	1. My Love Blossoms For Thee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been seeing a lot of hanahaki fics out there, not just for Fallout, but for many other fandoms. I decided that it was time to hop on the bandwagon. Let me know if you guys want to see more of this.
> 
> This is 100% unbeta'd so I apologize for any grammatical mistakes.

It starts with a tightness in his chest and a burning in his lungs.

Deacon wakes up one morning in the Railroad HQ. His partner, Nora’s, legs intertwined with his own, her arm casually thrown over his waist and her head tucked against his back. Instead of feeling panic at the partial cuddling, his first thought is  _ this is a nice thing to wake up to _ . As he lies there allowing himself a few seconds of selfishness a pressure builds inside his lungs and he has to hold his breath to keep from coughing. The shaking of his body wakes Nora. The vault dweller mumbles something about hating mornings and her words ghost across the back of his neck, forcing a shiver down his body. As soon as she’s gone, off to start her day, Deacon feels cold, both inside and out.

All day long he’s winded, his lungs feel like they’re on fire and he can’t seem to draw a full breath. He doesn’t think Nora notices, he usually trails behind, watching her back anyways, so the distance between them isn’t unusual. When they finally stop for the night he thinks that the burning will stop, and it does, for a while.

Then Nora sits down next to him by the fire, their hands brush, and it feels like lightning. It’s only his immense ability to keep control over himself that stops him from jerking away. Nora makes no comment, simply leans forward to rotate the squirrel bits over the fire. The tightness he felt all day returns full force and he coughs into his elbow, and it feels like more than air comes up. When he looks he sees nothing, but when he glances back up Nora is staring at the ground with a curious look on her face.

“What’s that by your foot?”

He follows her gaze down to the ground and sees something red. When he reaches down to get it he sees that it’s a flower petal, one he doesn’t recognize. Nora 's eyes have gone wide and a small smile is pulling at her lips.

“That looks like a tulip, can I see?” She doesn’t wait for an answer before reaching out to pull the scarlet petal from his fingers. They both watch as Nora twists it around, rubbing the thin surface, and staring in delight. “It is a tulip,” she looks up at him, eyes bright and hopeful, and the burning starts again, “I thought the radiation mutated all the flowers.”

When he speaks his voice is scratchy, like he had been coughing for hours instead of just the one time. “I haven’t seen an unmutated flower before,” he takes the petal back and feels it’s softness, “it’s beautiful.”

“I didn’t realize how much I missed flowers, but they used to be everywhere.” Deacon listens, completely enraptured, as Nora begins to talk about floral shops, wild flowers, and all the different types of plant life that existed pre-war. Then she begins to talk about their meanings, how different bouquets would mean something different depending on the flower and it’s color. “Red tulips meant ‘love’,” she stares at the petal he has resting in his palm, “I wonder where it came from.”

For once Deacon can’t think of a lie, so he shrugs and takes the tulip back to her. Neither of them equate his coughing with the sudden appearance of an extinct flower.

When they get back to HQ Nora heads off alone to take care of some of her Minutemen responsibilities, and Deacon is left to his own devices. He terrorizes Carrington and annoys Desdemona, convinces Tinker that he’s seen an alien in real life, and asks PAM outrageous questions just to see the possibilities. By the end of the first day he’s bored out of his skull and jumps at the chance to tag along with Glory on one of her missions.

Two hours into their hike their conversation shifts to his partner.

“Deacon, you’ve been running with Wanderer now for nearly six months, do you think she’s got what it takes to be our man on the inside?”

There isn’t a doubt in his mind that she’s the right agent for the job, and he tells Glory that. Clearly she’s shocked by his honest answer.

“Damn, she’s really made quite the impression if you don’t even have to lie about her abilities anymore.”

He doesn't have a response to that and the conversation stops, instead of talking they drift off into silence and Deacon begins to think. He thinks about what will happen once the relay is built and Nora leaves. How long will he be without her, will she survive? Or will she die, alone and afraid, far away from him and the rest of her Railroad family, trapped by the enemy?

Will she leave him alone again?

His lungs begin to burn and he feels as if they’re being constricted and he coughs once, twice, three times, but it feels like there’s something in his chest, more than just a pressure. Glory slaps him on the back, thinking that maybe the force will help. Instead dizziness tingles in his mind and he leans forward trying to steady himself. His throat feels sore from his hacking and he can’t seem to take a full breath. On his next exhalation something soft tumbles into his hand and he closes his fist around it, keeping it from being seen.

Finally, the coughing subsides and he takes a deep breath, the force of it hurts but the dizziness goes away.

“Fucking hell, are you alright?”

There are tears pricking at his eyes from the lack of oxygen and he’s thankful his sunglasses keep them hidden. “Just peachy, but it looks like I need to learn how to breathe without choking on my own spit.” With one more concerned look Glory accepts his lie and continues down the road.

Once she’s far enough away he looks down to his open palm, he can’t identify the emotion that hits him when he sees a red tulip petal.

Deacon is smart enough to start piecing everything together, but he doesn’t know what it means.

So he goes digging through the archives.

He’s tearing through their stash of pre-war reading material, when he stumbles across exactly what he’s looking for: a book about flowers. Too quickly he turns to the index and pulls back when he cuts himself on a page. The taste of blood is bitter when he sticks the digit into his mouth, but his focus on the stinging falls away when he finally opens to the page he was looking for.

Red Tulips.

_ “The tulip originated centuries ago in Persia and Turkey, where it played a significant role in the art and culture of the time. Most likely commenting on the Turkish tradition of wearing tulips in one’s turban, Europeans mistakenly gave tulips their name, which comes from the Persian word meaning turban…” _

He skips over the history. That’s not what’s important.

_ “The meaning of tulips is generally perfect love. Like many flowers, different colors of tulips also often carry their own significance. Red tulips are most strongly associated with true love, while purple symbolizes royalty. The meaning of yellow tulips has evolved somewhat, from once representing hopeless love to now being a common expression for cheerful thoughts and sunshine. White tulips are used to claim worthiness or to send a message of forgiveness. Variegated tulips, once among the most popular varieties due to their striking color patterns, represent beautiful eyes.” _

Perfect love, true love, it’s too much, he feels raw and exposed, but he keeps reading.

_ “With all of the sentiments and meanings of tulips, it’s not surprising that their popularity continues to endure. The wide range of colors and varieties available allows them to be used for many occasions. In addition to being a favorite for cut flower arrangements, Easter Tulips can also be given as a potted plant. The growing and caring for of tulip bulb gardens and plants is a rewarding pastime for many flower lovers. As one of the world’s most beloved flowers, a gift of tulips is a sure delight, enchanting in its beauty and simplicity.” _

There’s nothing else for him to read and he flips the page, annoyed to see that it moves onto the next entry. He re-reads the page twice, but nothing stands out. He’s ready to put the book down when he sees an asterisk, an annotation telling him that there is more information on a different page.

Pages blur together as he skips over chapters until he finds the right one and he begins to read.

**“** _ Diseases associated with flowers. _ **”** He skips down to the tulips.  _ “Red Tulips, while generally associated with true and perfect love, have a deadly consequence: Hanahaki Disease.” _

The world slows to a stop. He’s heard of this, he’s known people with this disease before, but he’s never seen it in the Commonwealth.

_ “History: First recorded in the 17th century by Japanse doctors, the term  _ ** _hanahaki_ ** _ comes from the Japanese words hana, which means "flower", and hakimasu, which means "to throw up". _

_ Symptoms and Development: This disease develops over months or even years, beginning with coughing up a few petals and growing in intensity (and pain) until the victim is vomiting entire flowers, by which point the disease has entered its final stages. Symptoms included: shortness of breath, tightness or pressure in the chest, burning in the lungs and throat, and, most noticeably, coughing up red tulips. The disease becomes fatal when the stem of the plant fully root itself in the victim’s lungs and moves up the victim’s throat. In some cases the victim will live long enough to see the stem of the plant emerge from their mouths before the plant cuts off all oxygen, and the victim suffocates. The shortest recorded death from hanahaki is four days, the longest is 17 months.” _

Fear grips at his heart and ice runs cold through his veins. There’s a tickle in his throat but he refuses to cough. The pressure is too much, however, and by the time his fit is over he’s got three more petals. He continues to read once he has his breathing under control.

_ “Contraction: This disease is not communicable, meaning it can not be spread from one person to another, it only appears when someone is suffering from what they believe to be one-sided, or unrequited love.” _

Not possible. He doesn’t love Nora. There’s no doubt he cares about her, worries and misses her when she’s gone, feels relief when she’s back. There’s no question that she’s beautiful and strong, confident and caring, terrifying in battle but kind to everyone around her. But his attraction is just physical, he certainly doesn't think about holding her when she’s upset, nor does he crack jokes just to see her smile, and he certainly doesn’t picture her with him for the rest of his life.

His heart doesn't break when he pictures a life without her.

Deacon is very good at lying to himself, and everyone around him, but the flowers tell him the truth: he does love her, even if he doesn’t want to believe it. He shoves the flowers into his pocket and continues to read, only one paragraph left.

_ “Cure: there are only a few ways to get rid of Hanahaki. It ends when the beloved returns the victim’s feelings (aside: romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. Although there are documented cases where the victim does not believe that their love is actually returned, and dies anyways. It can also be cured through surgical removal. The resulting effect of this surgery is very high: the victim's romantic feelings for their love will disappear, and in case of extreme love sometimes this process also removes their memories of the former beloved, or the victim's ability to ever love again. There are few doctors in the world who have successfully completed this surgery, and most national governments have made the procedure illegal.” _

There’s a ringing in his ears when the book closes and he can’t seem to feel his body, nor is he able to stop the spinning of the room around him. Deep breaths are impossible, both from what he now knows is hanahaki and from the fear that is coiling around him just as tightly as the tulip’s roots.

The two ways to be rid of the disease aren’t plausible. Nora doesn’t love him, of that he’s sure, and no doctor alive would be able to perform this surgery, the technology to do so would have been lost the day the bombs fell. Which leaves just one option:

He’s going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed please let me know with a kudo and a comment. If you have an opinion on what you think I should do next or a suggestion for how you'd like this fics to go just let me know! I'm totally open to changing the outcome for y'all.


	2. My Heart Grows Weary, And My Lungs Collapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that left a comment on the last chapter and to everyone that dropped a kudo <3

Accepting his impending death is as easy as lying through his teeth, which is to say he has no problems doing it… until he’s with the vault dweller. Unfortunately for Deacon, his main priority in life is the success and protection of the Railroad, which means he’s forced to spend most of his days roaming the Commonwealth with the cause of his disease. And now that he can no longer lie to himself about how Nora makes him feel, she seems to be all he can think of.

His one blessing is that she seems to have forgotten about the red petal she found, too focused on helping others.

In the days following her return from the Minutemen, Deacon gets very good at hiding the flowers that spill from him. Tucking them into places he hopes she never looks: his pockets, under bodies of raiders, and shoved desperately into mailboxes. His cough, however, is less easy to hide.

At first he passes it off as illness, and the concerned look on Nora’s face only makes the roots around his lungs tighter. Because she  _ cares _ , hell… she might even love him. But not the way he needs to be loved, not the only way that will cure him of his awful disease.

And, he thinks, maybe this is how he should go. Maybe this is what he deserves.

He’s not a good man, an honorable man. Maybe dying painfully, put in the ground by the one he loves, by one who can never return his feelings, is what he deserves. She forgave him for what he did with the Claws, but that doesn’t mean she can look past his mistakes enough to want to be his.

But just because he knows she will never return how he feels, doesn’t mean he has the strength to leave her. So, he lies.

And it works for a while. Nora takes him on easy jobs, ones that let them stay close to HQ so he doesn’t get any sicker. She does all this to help him, without realizing that it’s her presence, her kindness, her dedication to him, her very existence, that’s killing him slowly. Two weeks into his ‘sickness’ and he can tell she’s getting suspicious. So, he takes the cowards way out.

He leaves her, without a proper goodbye, slinking away in the night as she sleeps. Part of him wants to stay, drop down next to her, wrap her in his arms, drown in her. That’s the side of him that’s coughing up flowers. The bigger, stronger part of him, forces him to move, rationalizing that if he can just get away from her, that he can shove these feelings aside and be able to breathe again.

Desdemona catches him as he’s heading out the back.

“It’s a little late to be running an op,” shit, he didn’t even see her hidden against the wall, “and going out alone.”

He throws on his signature smile, hides behind the goofy grin. “Just wanted some air, gets a little musty with all of us cuddled down here.”

Her eyes drift to the bag he has slung over his shoulder, and the pistol he has secured to his thigh. “You want to try that again?”

“Nope.” He ends the word with a pop, still playing the fool.

“Deacon, cut the shit,” she pushes off the wall, “you’re running away. And I bet it has something to do with this.” She uncurls her fingers to reveal a handful of red tulip petals. “You have hanahaki, don’t you?”

“What makes you think they’re mine?” He knows he sounds petulant, but he doesn’t see himself telling the truth just yet.

Sadness crosses over her features, softening her face. It’s a rare emotion from their seemingly fearless leader, and it makes him sick. “I saw you cough them up, D. You went into one of your fits and then you shoved these behind a broken brick in the wall.” Damn her observational skills.

“It’s Fixer, isn’t it? That’s why you’re taking off without her.” When did he becomes so transparent?

Doesn’t matter, he won’t tell her. “Listen, Dez, you think you saw something that you didn’t. And I promise there’s a perfectly good explanation for where those flowers came from, and I swear I’ll tell you as soon as I come back.” He steps forward to push past her, and she lets him. Reluctance is written in her posture, but she makes no move to stop his escape.

From behind him he can hear her call out, quietly, “just make sure you really do come back”. He finds little comfort in her worry.

///

For three months, Deacon manages to stay alive and continue his duties for the Railroad, while simultaneously avoiding Nora and anyone who may know her.

For three months, Deacon does nothing but think about Nora. Imagine what their lives may have been like if she could find it in her heart to love him back.

For three months, the flowers grow larger, graduating from petals to full blossoms, restricting his lungs more harshly than ever before.

Too many times over the course of the last twelve weeks, Nora almost found him. Dogmeat is a hell of a mutt and even though he takes all the precautions he can think of, he’s still nearly been caught by the vault dweller and her furry companion. Twice now he’s returned to one of his temporary shelters to find her waiting for him, but he always sees her before she can see him, and he gets away.

But now, he can’t drawn in a full breath. The roots of the plant are too tight and the blossoms are too big. He can feel the branch of the tulip plant at the base of his throat, and it tickles, forcing him to cough more flowers. Recently, there’s more blood than petals. He knows he’s been at this location for too long, but just the thought of standing makes him wheeze. He wonders if Nora will find him before he dies, or after, and he doesn’t know which would be worse.

The whole table is covered in red, a mixture of flowers and blood, and he knows without looking that the floor has its own share, too. How fitting, and poetic, that he will die surrounded by his own blood, choking on betrayal, just as Barabara did.

It’s no less than he deserves.

Inhaling and exhaling is no longer something he can do naturally, without thinking. Now it takes all his effort just to force a little bit of oxygen past the plant and into his lungs and then back out. He’s so focused on the in and out that he doesn’t hear the intruder sneaking up behind him until their sneakers squeak on the floor.

He stands quickly and is instantly out of breath, and he doesn’t even have the energy to draw his weapon. The tulips bloom in his chest, expanding out, when he sees it’s Nora. Her presence alone is pushing him to the edge, speeding up the inevitable.

She looks… tired. Is that his fault? What is he thinking? Of course it is. There’s no doubt that she’s done nothing but look for him, filled with worry and anxiety every time she went to sleep empty handed. There are dark circles under her eyes, and he wonders when the last time she actually managed to get a full night’s rest was. Was it the last time they slept side by side, her arm across his waist and his head tucked against her? That’s what it looks like.

Still, even though she’s covered in dirt, blood, and looks as rough as he’s ever seen her before, she’s still Nora, beautiful and right in front of him. He didn’t realize how much he missed her until now. His fingers twitch as his sides, he wants to touch her, confirm that she’s real.

He’s spared having to look her in the eye, see the disappointment, maybe anger, that he imagines will be written in her pupils, because she’s not looking at him. No, her focus has zeroed in on the tulips that litter the floor behind him.

Does she know what it means? She’s smart, even if she doesn’t know about the disease, she can put the pieces together.

All of a sudden he realizes that he hasn’t been breathing, and he sucks in deeply. His legs give out as the force presses the plant into his throat, ripping his skin and sending a plethora of tulips out and onto the floor. He doesn’t even feel it as he tips over, sending his shoulder crashing into the ground. This is the end, isn’t it?

Nora’s hands are rough as they grab the front of his shirt, pulling him into a sitting position. Full blossoms fall from his lips across her knuckles and down onto his lap, overflowing onto the floor.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had hanahaki? Why did you run away?” Her voice is hysterical, he hasn’t heard her sound like this since Agent Professor died. She had begged their newest recruit to open her eyes, but she hadn’t responded. He can’t respond either, the branch of the tulip plant is moving up his throat, he can feel it in his windpipe.

His sunglasses are somewhere on the floor, lost when he fell, and his face is open and exposed. Nora looks right into his eyes, and for once he doesn’t try to hide anything. Instead he tries to express his feelings without words, but he doesn’t know if it works. Speaking is nearly impossible, but he wants her to know, he  _ needs _ her to know.

A wheezing sound escapes from him as he attempts to speak and Nora shakes her head. “Don’t try and talk,” there are tears streaming down her face, “I don’t know what to do, Deacon, but you can’t die.”

“Nora-”. He coughs, spilling more tulips as red as blood. Her tears inspire his own and they cry together. “I-”, more flowers crash around them, “it’s okay.” His voice cracks, straining to escape past the branch inside of him.

“It’s not okay,” her head drops down to his chest and the warmth she provides him is a small comfort, “you’re dying and I don’t know how to help. I don’t know what you need.”

She doesn’t, but he does. If the last thing he sees is her face, that will be enough. With what little strength he has he reaches up to cup her cheek, pushing her off of him. Her skin is soft under his thumb. “You here,” another cough, more flowers, he can taste the wood from the plant on the back of his tongue, and blood as it coats his mouth, “is all I need.”

Sobs wrack through Nora’s body and she leans into his hand. Her own comes up to pull his face into the crook of her neck. It’s hard to do so, but he manages to breathe her in, filling his senses with her scent. Her nails dig into the back of his head but the pain is hardly noticeable compared to the pain he feels in his lungs. Suddenly, he can’t breathe at all.

His vision starts to turn black at the edges as his body fights for air, but he ignores it. Deacon focuses on Nora, determined to make her his last thought.

“You can’t die. I need you, I need you here,” she jerks back to look at him, but he can’t really see her, can only focus on her voice as he fades away, “Deacon, you can’t die. Please, I love you. I can’t lose you.”

The last thing he registers before falling into the darkness is the feel of Nora’s lips pressing against his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked today's chapter. I'm interested to see what you guys think, or maybe to hear what you guys are hoping to see happen next!


	3. Searching For My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter, you guys. I just got my wisdom teeth taken out and it's been a long road to recovery. Please let me know what you think down below. Chapter 4 is in the works, and will bring us to the end of our story.

Deacon’s been gone for three weeks when Nora finally manages to drag the truth about his mysterious disappearance from Desdemona. Nora had pulled the Railroad leader aside under the false pretense of discussing a new safe-house, when in actuality it was her attempt to dig deeper into Deacon’s absence. Desdemona held her ground, just long enough for Nora to wonder if maybe she had gotten it wrong, that maybe Deacon had run off on his own. But then she sees it, guilt, hidden behind layers and layers of practiced professionalism and deceit. It looks like she’s not the only one that learned a thing or two from their missing agent.

“I know you know where he is, Des, don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying to you, Fixer, I really don’t know where he’s gone.”

“But you know why he left.”

Finally, she gives in. “Yes, but…” Desdemona sighs and pulls out a cigarette, she lights it and inhales deeply, “I have a feeling that he’s going to be working very hard to avoid you.”

“Why? What did I do?” There’s an ache in her heart when she thinks about Deacon leaving because of her, due to something she said or did. A thought freezes her blood - does he know how she feels about him?

Nora has worked very hard to keep her feelings towards Deacon locked down and hidden away. She doesn’t allow her eyes to linger on him for too long. She keeps any physical interactions small and quick, being extra careful that they didn’t betray that her feelings towards her partner are less than professional, are more than just friendly.

But Deacon is a spy, his job is to discover everyone’s personal and deeply hidden secrets, to drag the truth out of them even when they’re actively fighting against his attempts. Even so, it seems to be a little extreme for him to completely ghost, without a word or hint as to what she could do to fix them. Her only hope is that he told Desdemona.

“Fixer, it’s not something you did…” she pauses, won’t look Nora in the eye, “Deacon is sick, and I believe that he thinks being away from you will cure him.”

“That ridiculous, it’s not like I’m sick or anything, you’re not making any sense.” It’s obvious that Desdemona is hiding something from her, and she has no idea what it might be. Her explanation of Deacon’s illness is only mildly convincing, and it’s not enough. “If you just tell me what’s going on, I can fix it. If you keep me in the dark it’s just going to make me continue to search for an answer.”

Nora can see when Desdemona’s resolve crumbles, and she waits patiently as the Railroad leader sucks down another puff of nicotine. “Deacon’s sickness isn’t one that can be cured by rest or a stimpack. He has-” she cuts herself off, and looks at Nora very closely, “are you sure you want to know?”

“Please, Des.”

“Deacon has hanahaki.”

The world tickles something familiar at the back of her mind. “Isn’t that the disease that causes flowers to grow in someone’s lungs?” Desdemona confirms that and panic flushes through her. “Isn’t that fatal?” Another confirmation and Nora feel sick.

“Do you know anything about hanahaki?”

She doesn’t. This disease wasn’t very common pre-war, and if you had it most people hid it, so that they could get the surgery illegally without raising suspicion. When she expresses her lack of knowledge, Desdemona doesn’t give her any details, leaving her just as far in the dark as she was before.

Desdemona puts out the cigarette and reaches out to place one hand on Nora’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but he knows he’s dying.”

She rotates her shoulder so her hand falls, she can feel anger rising inside of her. “So what? He’s just run off to die alone like a cat?”

“Fixer-”

“No, I’m going to find him. I’m going to help him.” She turns on her heel, already determined to take off into the night to find her partner, when Des calls out to her.

“Do you love him?”

Nora pauses halfway down the hall and turns slowly, hoping that there’s no blush on her cheeks. “Excuse me?”

“Do you love him?” She doesn’t answer. It feels like a trap, a ruse to get her to admit something that she’s not ready to express. There’s a sigh from Desdemona and the red-head tilts her head sadly. “If you do, you need to tell him, before it’s too late.”

She doesn’t answer, just turns back around, ready to start hunting down Deacon.

///

Staring into the empty room, red tulips scattered around in tiny piles, Nora only has one thought:  _ I’m too late _ .

She’s always too late. Too late to save her husband, too late to rescue Professor, too late to catch Deacon, maybe too late to find her son. People die because she’s too slow, too soft, too pre-war for this world. Dogmeat can track a trail across the Commonwealth, more than a month after the person has gone, yet she can’t travel fast enough or long enough to shorten the lead that Deacon has on them. 

Her lack of abilities is going to kill her partner, and she’ll have no one to blame but herself. Losing Nate wasn’t something she could control, even Strong would struggle to get out of a locked cryo pod, and Professor, well… Nora wasn’t the only Railroad agent that failed to save her from that deathclaw.

But Deacon? She has an opportunity to save him, to at least make sure that he’s not alone in his final moments, and she’s not going to make it.

Every safe house they find has more flowers than the last, and recently there’s been blood mixed in. It’s been weeks since she took off from HQ to find him, and she’s got nothing to show for it except a long extinct flower, and the blood of the man she loves on her fingertips.

Guilt racks through her every time she ignores a radio call from Preston, or pretends that she doesn’t see the flares in the sky, asking for Minutemen help. They’re strong, they don’t need her. At least that’s what she tells herself so she can sleep. Desdemona stopped sending her dead drops two week into her search, clearly getting the message that Nora won’t be reading them, or helping the Railroad, until Deacon has been found.

It’s not like the teleporter is even close to finished anyways.

Determination is the one thing that keeps her going, that, and desperation. Desperation to not be alone, to be loved, to have one steady thing in this world to hold on to. Even if that one thing is a lying, shady, sneaky spy, who can’t even tell himself the truth. At least with Deacon she knows what she’s getting into. But being alone again? That desperate ache in her heart that tells her how empty she is? That tells her how much she’s lost? Nora doesn’t want that anymore, and losing Deacon will only tell her what she already knows: she’s not good enough to save anyone.

So she searches, hardly sleeps, doesn’t stop. She knows that she’ll keep going until she finds him, or she collapses from exertion. Either one will tell her that she’s done all she can, but only one will make her feel alive, will fix the broken pieces that have begun to crumple off of her like an old plaster wall.

Nora spots an empty Nuka Cola bottle under the couch, bloody fingerprints stain the glass. “C’mere boy, smell this,” obediently the German Shepherd bounds over, sniffs the long expired drink, and lets out a low whimper, “find Deacon, boy. You can do it.”

They leave together, crushing tulips as they depart.

///

After months of searching, she finds him, and her elation is quickly crushed by the sight before her.

It’s not until she sees the petals, covered in blood, piled on the floor at Deacon’s feet, that she realizes how long he’s been suffering. The tulip petal she had seen by the fire that night what seems like a lifetime ago wasn’t a rare miracle from the Commonwealth, it was the first sign that Deacon was dying.

And she had missed it.

If she had seen it sooner would she have been able to help? If she had recognized the signs would she have been able to search for a cure? None of those thoughts matter when Deacon falls to the floor.

Nothing matters at all except the pain, the longing, the heartbreak she can see in his eyes when she drops down onto the floor next to him. She can’t feel anything but panic, as she grabs at him, as she pleads, both with her body and her words, that he stay alive, that he tell her how to help. Nora confesses everything to him, even as full blossoms fall from his mouth, staining her knuckles red. She kisses him, not caring that she can taste blood.

Icy fear runs through her when he doesn’t respond and she collapses into him.

“Please,” she whimpers it like a prayer, “I love you. Don’t leave me.”


	4. (Part 1) Without You Here and (Part 2) The Drum Beat Carries On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a two part ending. If you're looking to have your heart stepped on start reading from the beginning of this chapter, if you'd rather end this fic with something happy and less devastating then scroll down until you hit the big page break. As always, I hope you enjoy.

Part 1 (Sad ending): _ Without You Here _

Nora steps through the doors to HQ, feeling both destroyed from the inside out, and numb at the same time. Drummer Boy says something to her, but the ringing in her ears is louder than his voice, and she pushes past him. She ignores everyone else as she slowly makes her way over to the chalkboard, listing out the agents and safehouses that are alive and active.

Silence rings out into the tombs, and all eyes are on her, but no one says a word. With hands that shake she reaches out to grab a piece of chalk. It stains her fingers with dust, leaving her looking pale and dead.

_ Like Deacon _.

That thought has her hand tightening around the chalk, and she forces tears back. She will not cry. She will _ not. _

Without looking, and in one swift motion, she raises her arm and draws a thick line through Deacon’s name. When she finally has a grip on herself she looks up, forcing herself to see his name, forcing herself to accept that he’s really gone. She feels everything, and yet nothing. The chalk falls from her hand. It misses the ledge on the board and crashes to the floor. The echo is the loudest thing she’s ever heard.

There’s not a single person in HQ moving when she turns around, but she can’t meet their eyes. _ It’s my fault. I’m the reason he’s dead. If I had just told him sooner- _

The ‘ifs’ are going to kill her, if she doesn’t stop.

On legs that don’t feel like her own she makes her way over to Desdemona. The round table in the center of HQ separates them, but the distance isn’t enough. Nora reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out what she hopes will explain the situation for her, so that she doesn’t have to. The care that she uses to place the item on the table is the same care she used when holding Shaun, both so delicate and fragile, both a representation of the things she has lost in this world.

Swallowing hard, she finally lifts her gaze to meet Desdemona’s stare. The understanding she sees there is like a knife to her heart.

“Fixer-”

“Don’t,” the word comes out soft, but demanding. Desdemona pauses, her mouth part way open. “I will help take down the Institute, but I no longer consider myself to be an agent. I will not run operations, I will not retrieve dead drops, I will not go undercover. Do I make myself clear?”

“Fixer, agents have lost partners before, you’re not the first-”

“I said,” she interrupts, “do I make myself clear?”

There’s sadness and defeat in Desdemona’s tone when she replies with a small, “yes”.

“My name is Nora,” she points to the chalkboard, “feel free to strike my name from the list of agents. But, when you make it to the Institute, because I know you will, call me and I will help fight. Until then,” she looks around to the agents that have gathered to listen, “you will not see me again.”

No one stops her when she turns to leave. The only evidence that she ever returned: Deacon’s name, crossed out with a white line, and, sitting untouched on the table, a single bloomed tulip blossom, as crimson as blood.

Part 2: _The Drum Beat Carries On _ (Happy ending)

The first thing Deacon is aware of when he wakes, is pain. Starting from his lungs, all the way up through his chest, and ending at his throat, is an itchy, burning, pain. The next thing he notices is that he can breathe, the only thing stopping him is the discomfort that is coursing through his respiratory system.

Then he opens his eyes, sees Nora, and his internal catalog of information halts as he takes her in. She’s sleeping, looking peaceful and calm. Her hair is a mess, there’s tear tracks on her face, but she doesn’t look sad, just tired. Being as quiet as he can he sits up, finally taking a look around the room.

Nora must have dragged him to the bedroom, considering he’s on a bed, and the floor isn’t littered with anything except the normal Commonwealth filth, but it seems as if they’re in the same building where he had…where he had died? Did he die? He can’t remember.

Trying to recall the events that occurred before he passed out only caused a headache to form. But considering he still feels the same when he looks at Nora, he can only draw one conclusion: she loves him. And she somehow managed to express this to him before he actually died.

Hope, something he refused to allow himself to have before, blooms in his chest, filling up the empty spaces where the flowers had been. He takes in a deep breath, inhaling without obstruction for the first time in months. The air tastes sweet, but that might just be his imagination.

His hands and shirt are covered in dried blood, and he shudders. He really had been at the very edge, staring into the brink.

Carefully he slides off the bed, leaving Nora to sleep, lord know she probably needs it right now, and heads into the kitchen. The petals and blossoms have all been swept to one side, and streaks of red cut across the dirty yellow of the tile, more evidence of how close he had been to dying. He spots a few cans of purified water and uses them to wash his hands, letting the evidence run down the drain. The sight distracts him, and he jumps when someone says his name.

Deacon turns quickly, spilling water down the counter and onto the floor, but neither him or Nora pay any attention to the mess. For a few seconds they just look at each other, and then her face crumples, and tears form in her eyes.

“I thought I lost you, I thought I was too late.”

Everything inside of him is screaming to go to her, to hold her, to comfort her, but his feet stay planted where they are. He doesn’t know the protocol for this situation, he doesn't have a rulebook for what he’s allowed to do.

In true Nora fashion, she leads the way.

She steps forward, over the water, and pulls him into her. His hands come up to encircle her, leaving handprints on her shirt. “I’m sorry,” he whispers the apology into her hair, ashamed and distraught that he brought pain to her. Nora pulls back and he doesn’t restrain himself from wiping away her tears with his hand. “I should have told you, I should have-”

“We both should have done a lot,” she cuts him off, and for some reason they both smile, small and sad, “but what matters is that you’re alive, I wasn’t too late, and we’re… we’re okay.” It’s supposed to be a statement, but he hears the hidden questions.

_ You know that I love you? _

_ I know that you love me. Can you handle that? _

_ Are you going to run away again? _

_ Do you promise not to leave? _

He doesn’t have the answer to all her questions, he’s not sure if he can handle anything that’s going on right now. But what he does know is that Nora feels right in his arms, and he never wants to see her in pain because of him again. So, he answers the non-question question. “We’re okay.”

He sees and feels the tension run out of Nora’s body and finds himself relaxing into her. They stand in the kitchen for a few more minutes, her head on his chest and his head resting on hers. It feels… it feels like home. It feels safe. It feels like love.

For too long Deacon was a runner. Running and hiding from his past, his lies, the Institute, friendships, anything really. And for the first time in a long time, maybe even before Barabara, he doesn’t want to run, he doesn’t want to hide. All he wants to do is to stand in the dirty and dusty kitchen, hold on to Nora, and tell her everything.

They don’t have time for everything, but that’s okay, they have time for this.

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left a comment on this fic letting me know what you thought and how it made you feel. And thank you to everyone who left a kudo or bookmarked this fic. I appreciate you all <3


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